I married the same man nine times. And each time, he left me for his first love, divorcing me nine times as well.

The first time we parted, I lost control and threw all his belongings out the door.

By the fourth divorce, I begged him to leave his luggage behind out of fear he might never return.

The eighth time, I had learned to obediently pack his things, careful not to upset him.

My breakdowns, my pleas, and my obedience always brought him back to me. Each time, he honored his promises. And each time, we divorced again, just like before.

Until this time. This time, I packed my own things and left without telling him.

A month from now, I will be gone for good.

"One month from now, we'll remarry."

Jake Reacher casually took the divorce papers from my hands, speaking words meant to comfort me.

When I signed, my heart was still. No waves of emotion stirred. I didn't even feel the urge to respond to his words.

"Alison."

Jake frowned, clearly displeased with my silence, and repeated himself.

"Oh. Okay."

I paused my packing and looked back at him, a trace of helplessness in my eyes.

Jake was a man who kept his promises. Every time we divorced, he would tell me when our next reunion would be. He had only ever lied to me once—on our wedding day, holding me close, whispering, "From now on, I'll love only you."

Men who are good with words are always liars.

He seemed slightly surprised at my composure. In the past, after signing the papers, I would collapse, sobbing uncontrollably in front of him.

"So, this time… I'm moving out…"

Jake hesitated over his words, but I cut him off.

"No need. I'll move out. I'm almost done packing."

Surprise flashed across his face.

The first time we divorced, I had lost control and thrown his things out of the house.

By the fourth divorce, I begged him to leave his luggage behind, terrified he might never return.

The eighth time, I had learned to pack his things obediently, careful not to upset him.

My breakdowns, my pleas, and my obedience always brought him back to me. Each time, he honored his promises. And each time, we divorced again, just like before.

Three days ago, he had given me a gift. It wasn't expensive, but it was thoughtful—a necklace in a style I liked.

I forced a smile, but my chest ached. In our marriage, kindness was rare; small gestures always seemed to foreshadow deeper hurt.

That night, I couldn't sleep. Secretly, I checked his phone. Pinned at the top was his first love, Carla Davidson.

Carla: [I'm coming back to the country.]

Just one sentence, yet it sentenced our ninth marriage to death.

I opened another message—a conversation between Jake and a friend.

[Alison is really great. Don't leave this time. Weren't you going to forget Carla?]

His reply was simple: [Tried. Can't.]

All those sleepless nights, all that pain, suddenly felt released.

I shook my head and stepped out of the memories.

Under Jake's deep gaze, I finished packing my things.

Carrying my luggage, I walked toward the door, plotting my permanent departure from the city.

Behind me, his voice rang out, "Alison. One month from now, we'll remarry."

I didn't answer. I just waved, acknowledging him.

Coincidentally, my flight abroad was scheduled for exactly one month later.

…

After moving out of the Reacher residence, I settled into the apartment my parents had left me. As usual, Jake didn't make any effort to contact me—not once.

Only twenty days remained before my departure. That day, I was shopping with my best friend, Hannah Ridgewood. She chattered nonstop, cursed Jake, and after a few minutes, lowered her voice.

Hannah muttered, "I saw Jake and Carla traveling together on Instagram."

I stayed silent, suddenly realizing that after every previous divorce, I had compulsively refreshed Jake and Carla's posts, torturing myself. Except this time.

Seeing my quiet, Hannah's tone softened with sympathy.

"Did you two… divorce again?"

In our circle, she was the only one who knew about my repeated marriages and divorces with Jake.

"Yeah… divorced."

Hannah sighed, offering a steady stream of comforting words.

I smiled and was about to tell her that I was leaving the country.

But before I could, I unexpectedly ran into Jake at the jewelry store.

"Alison," he called out instinctively.

Carla, linking her arm with his, greeted me warmly. "Alison! You're looking at jewelry too?"

She was undeniably beautiful—it was no wonder she had been Jake's first love.

In the past, every encounter like this had me staring at Carla as though she were my enemy.

Jake shot me a long, penetrating look and positioned half his body in front of her, shielding her behind him.

I stopped my impulsive friend, smiled, and replied calmly, "I've got some good news recently, so I'm buying a little gift for myself."

Hannah added, with perfect timing, "Yes! Dumped the scumbag, and someone else conveniently steps in—wouldn't you call that good news?"

I pinched her hand playfully, but couldn't help giving her comment an internal thumbs-up.

Jake opened his mouth but, seeing us laughing together, ultimately stayed silent.

The sales assistant, perceptive, noticed the tension and called a colleague to attend to us separately.

Hannah whispered that Jake, while wandering the store, had occasionally spaced out, glancing in our direction.

I simply nodded, assuming he felt a twinge of guilt.

"Sorry, ma'am, this style is sold out."

Hannah had been eyeing a clover-shaped necklace in the display, but now she looked disappointed.

Something clicked in my mind—the design was familiar. It was exactly the necklace Jake had given me three days before our divorce.

In the past, every small gesture from him had been my treasure. This time, though, I took the necklace from my bag and handed it to her.

"Here, you can have this."

At that moment, Jake and Carla were walking past us. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but I thought I saw him glance several times at the necklace in Hannah's hand.

Hannah tried to refuse, but I pressed it into her palm. After all, it was only a gift meant to soothe me—a trivial thing. The one who gave it… was already my ex-husband.

…

I had thought that meeting him there would be our last encounter.

But ten days before my departure, I told my boss I would be resigning, then wandered the neighborhood feeling a little melancholic.

A tall figure emerging from the shadows among the trees startled me.

I was about to scream when someone covered my mouth.

"Alison. It's me."

Jake's face appeared.

I broke free from his hand, taking a few hurried steps back.

He looked down at my hand, which I had wrenched away, his expression unreadable.

"Why are you here? You didn't even say a word." My impatience was plain.

"Passing by." His eyes shifted, thoughtful. "I wanted to surprise you."

I was momentarily speechless—but of course. If this were the old days, a Jake who came looking for me voluntarily would have been a gift I'd prayed for.

Under the moonlight, his gaze held a hint of confusion as he looked at me.

I sighed, tempted to tell him the truth, but held back—not wanting any extra complications.

"Don't leave Carla wondering. She might misunderstand." I spoke carefully, trying to reason.

"Misunderstand what? There's nothing going on between me and her."

Jake lied.

I tilted my head, didn't correct him, and said simply, "Whether there's something or not, I'm just an ex-wife."

Even though we had married and divorced nine times like a game, I was still the ex-wife.

The night grew quiet. The wind outside howled, as if carrying my words far away.

After a long silence, Jake lifted his head, attempting an explanation.

"Divorcing you… It was my fault. But I couldn't let Carla bear the shame of being involved with a married man."

I took a few irritated steps back, unable—and unwilling—to understand.

Carla couldn't bear the blame, so that meant I deserved to be divorced nine times?

"You've considered everything thoroughly, Jake. I have nothing to say."

I lowered my eyes, refusing to meet his gaze.

Jake opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to say more, but the ringtone of his phone interrupted him. It was Carla calling.

I looked at the name on his screen and said firmly, "Go. Be with her. We'll talk about us later."

Jake stared at me a few times, then slowly walked away to answer.

I returned to my apartment and slammed the door shut, as if sealing not only what had just happened but everything from the past.

…

Time flew. The work handover finished, and my departure abroad drew closer.

Without the job—and without Jake—I blocked my social circles in Vera City, and life felt unexpectedly light.

Only Hannah, knowing I was leaving the country, occasionally shared gossip from our circle.

After that encounter, she told me, Jake seemed to have a huge fight with Carla, prompting friends to intervene.

Another time, Carla publicly scolded him at a party, leaving him frozen in the corner for a long moment.

I listened quietly to all the news, feeling neither joy nor sorrow.

In the past, updates of Jake and Carla fighting had been the signal for me to beg him to remarry me sooner. This time, I didn't even think of checking in with him.

Even when Hannah casually mentioned that Jake had asked about me, I was surprised—but not enough to act.

What shocked me even more was that Jake started calling me himself.

And I repeatedly hung up—so much so that even Hannah, who was pampering me at a spa, thought it cruel.

"Is it true," she teased, "that the more you distance yourself, the more a man can't let go?"

I kicked her playfully with my leg.

After the spa, we sat in the tea room, sipping quietly.

Hannah couldn't help but sigh. "You know… Jake treated you really well back then."

My gaze went distant, lost in memories.

When I first met Jake, I was still in college. He was only six years older, a friend of my father's. My parents had gone abroad on business and entrusted him with my care.

This man, who could command Vera City with a single word, indulged me endlessly back then.

He had rushed onto the track when I twisted my ankle at a sports meet, carrying me away in front of everyone.

He had scolded me for failing an exam, then picked up my textbooks and tutored me himself.

When I was cheated out of 160 dollars during an internship, he used all his connections to bring that company down.

At some point, I fell in love with this man who treated me like a niece. I leaned on him without restraint.

Jake grew used to spoiling me, never noticing anything unusual—until I confessed.

His expression darkened, ending with a sigh. "I have someone I like."

It was then that I learned of Carla, a woman whose features resembled mine in a few ways.

That failed confession became the start of nine years of entanglement between us. In the middle of it all, Carla returned to the country—they dated, fought, tore each other apart, and broke up.

One drunken night, while consoling a heartbroken Jake, I foolishly confessed again. He kissed me in response, binding himself to me through marriage.

Later, when Carla returned to Vera City, Jake first proposed divorce.

The endless cycle of divorces and remarriages continued and gradually wore me numb.